El Grande Rojo Cueva
by AllForLenya
Summary: Scott Summers and a small team travel to Texas to investigate the death of a mutant seemingly dead because of a legend involving a cave. A larger, and better, summary is provided inside. Also, as a note, I apologize ahead of time just in case any of my Spanish is incorrectly used.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Of course, I do not own Marvel or anything within it. This story I wrote before solidifying the alternate universe I currently write in, but it is still based in reality and in a world where S.H.I.E.L.D. is in leagues with the X-Men and The Avengers. This specific story deals with what I find to be an interesting way to look at mutants – as myths and/or legends. The idea that there could be a branch within S.H.I.E.L.D. that deals specifically with the 'bigfoots' or 'vampires' of mutants is something that appeals to me, though neither myth is present in this story. I apologize for any mistakes I have made regarding the Spanish, I used a Spanish dictionary and Google translator as my guides. _

_Dallas, Texas. S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. 9:00 A.M. Central._

Sometimes an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. had to take flack from people who thought they were nothing but ghost or monster hunters. And Agent Melissa Gold took even more flack because she was one of the agents who worked specifically with those odd calls. Normally, her job required her to pour over video feeds, either professional or otherwise, that suggested that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s expertise was required. And usually, it turned out to be bogus. Rarely ever did someone actually see something out of the ordinary that would require Hazmat suits, midnight raids or a special ops team trained to handle a living sea monster.

But today, after taking several ridiculous calls and watching mostly shadows move across her computer screen – shadows that were absolutely not ghosts or monsters – one video made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight. She paused it and replayed it, probably about five times before she was certain she wasn't just getting creeped-out by someone's stunt.

She switched off one of Texas' queens, Miranda Lambert, and left her station to go find her superior. And she was given the go-ahead to call in the big guns.

_Salem, New York. The Rotunda. 8:25 A.M. EST._

Scott Summers sat behind his desk, checking and rechecking the mission schedule for last month. Apparently, one of their pilots did not know how to do simple math and Scott wanted the problem taken care of before he had to turn it into his superiors and end up taking the blame. A knock came at the door, and without looking up, he said, "Come on in."

Janet Van Dyne stepped in and handed him a small package. "This was just delivered by Quiksilver." Quiksilver, as his name suggested, had the job to carry important mail and memos faster than the normal postal service could. He worked directly for Tony Stark, because Tony did not like to wait for mail – or anything.

Scott took the package from her outstretched hand, the nails bedecked in bright green. Sometimes he wondered if her attire was deemed appropriate by the other women who worked here, since Janet usually dressed in short neon skirts, sloganized tee shirts and wore brightly colored hair pieces.

Janet continued, "It's from The Triskelion, but it originally came from San Antonio, Texas. Or maybe Dallas. Anyways, you'll be getting a call –" her words were cut short by the phone.

"Thank you, Janet," Scott said, picking up the phone, an unspoken indication that he wanted her to leave. She grinned and left, closing the door behind her.

"Summers," he said into the phone.

"Have you watched the Dallas footage yet?" Scott could have the I.Q. of one of his pilots without math skills and still would have known who was on the other line. It was Tony Stark a.k.a. the Big Boss, head of the Avenger's Initiative.

"I just received it," Scott replied. He didn't like Tony, thought him an arrogant asshole only out to build up his ego instead of actually helping humanity, but he always kept his emotions in check. After all, it was mostly Tony's dime that kept their lights on and gave Scott the ability to do what he loved.

Tony probably knew that he wasn't well liked by everyone in the world, and that sometimes the only reason people were civil was because he could buy their soul without putting a dent in his pocket change. But he didn't care. To Scott, he said, "Well, not to ruin the surprise, but I want you and a team of your choice to head to Texas. Today if at all possible, tomorrow definitely."

"Okay," Scott said. "I'll check in when I have a team in Texas."

"Wouldn't expect any less of you, Summers. An Agent Gold will be your personal slave once you arrive." Tony replied and hung up the phone.

Elizabeth Braddock set up the feed in the smaller of their two conference rooms and sat down at the rectangular table next to one of her teammates, Emma Frost.

The filming was done by a civilian who had been exploring some unknown cave in lower East Texas. They heard the voice of the man holding the camera. "You claustrophobic, Reg?"

'Reg', probably short for Regina, was a short woman with her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. "Not yet," she replied with a laugh.

The man holding the camera said, perhaps talking to whoever would watch this video diary, "We've just entered _El Grande Rojo Cueva_. Legend says that if you go in alone, you won't come out. Scared, Reg?"

She laughed. "No, Mark. _I'm_ not scared. Are you?"

He gasped and asked, "Did you hear that?"

"Shut up, Mark. We're barely inside. Come on." The duo, Mark and Reg, continued walking and talking as they went through the Big Red Cave.

Scott, Elizabeth and their team watched without enthusiasm for another ten minutes. Then it started to get good.

"Guano means poop, right?" Reg asked.

"I think just for bats," Mark answered. "Why, you step in some?"

"I hope not, but I stepped in something."

The camera shifted and Mark shone his light on Reg's shoe. "Ew, sick," Mark said. "It looks kinda like bird shit."

"Um, Mark?" Reg asked, and her voice trembled. "I don't think it's bird poop."

The light and camera followed the goop on Reg's shoe to the ground around her. Both the camera and the light dropped, and as if it was done on purpose, the light shone on a gristly and mottled piece of flesh. They heard Mark retch in the background and Reg sobbed. After a minute or two of struggling with the camera, Reg turned it off.

Scott turned to the group before him. "Apparently our two man film crew found the body of what appeared to be a large bird. But upon closer inspection it turned out to be half man, half bird. The fact that it seems to follow the legend of the particular cave that no one that comes in alone leaves, along with the obviously mutated body is what will send us to Texas. So, pack up, wheels up in one hour. We'll finish the briefing en route."

Before they had a chance to leave and pack, a knock resounded on the conference room door. Elizabeth opened it up, and looked over at Scott, saying, "Dr. Hank Pym wants to talk to you."

"Bring him in, then," Scott replied.

Elizabeth let him pass, but as a way of retreat said, "I've some research to do. Have a safe trip."

"How can I help you, Dr. Pym?" Scott asked. He didn't know the scientist well, but respected that the man was obviously very smart and thus, deserved his friendliness.

Dr. Pym nodded a hello at the group, and also said, "Hi, Jean," to the only one he knew well enough to call by name, before saying, "Uh, I'm not sure if this is the proper way to address this, but I'm looking at registering for mission work, and you're the boss, I hear."

Scott knew that Pym was probably ten years older than him and everyone else in the room, and yet, he spoke without the 'I'm better and wiser than you' tone that many of the elder S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Avengers used when they spoke to him or his younger teammates. Scott liked this guy immediately. "Can you be packed and ready to fly to Texas within the hour?" he asked him.

"I'm sure I could manage that," Pym answered.

"Good. We'll see in you the hangar in an hour, then. Janet can give you a list, if you need one, that will guide you with what to bring."

"Thank you for the opportunity, Agent Summers," Pym said and then he left.


	2. Chapter 2

_The SR-71 Blackbird. 10:30 A.M. EST._

As the selected team was leaving Westchester County and heading towards Dallas, Texas, where they would meet with Agent Gold first before setting up shop in the much smaller S.H.I.E.L.D. facility located in San Antonio, they had Elizabeth on conference call. "According to, and most probably specific to, the Mexican culture there, the legend of _El Grande Rojo Cueva_ says that the cave itself is home to one of the devil's henchmen and he pries on those who are in solitude. He is weak when there is more than one, but almost as strong as the devil himself when a person is alone. I hope that helps, but I bet it only sheds light on the mindset of the Mexican people."

Scott said, "I wonder if our Mark and Reg believed the legend is true."

"They probably do now if they didn't before," Emma said. She wasn't exactly thrilled to be heading out to Texas, land of the hot sun – and rattlesnakes, she heard.

Elizabeth continued, "According to the file all of you have copies of, Mark and Regina Wilson were married less than a month ago and they traveled to many places in the Southwest for their honeymoon. The Big Red Cave was among the last of their stops before they were to settle in Chicago. They will be available for questioning for only the first couple of days – in person – that is, but if you do suspect them of foul play, obviously, S.H.I.E.L.D. can contain them."

"Right," Scott said, adding, "Though I doubt their involvement."

"As do I," Elizabeth agreed. "However, whatever happens down there, be careful. I know we weren't given much heads up, and that very well could be the reason why it feels this way, but I do think we're not being told something rather important."

Scott nodded, agreeing with her, again. "I think you're right. I'll let you know if we require any additional team members. Keep in touch."

"Will do, Scott." And with that, the conversation ended.

Turning to his team, Scott realized that he and Elizabeth weren't the only ones who suspected this case of the dead bird-man was only the least of their worries. Other than himself, and the newly deputized Dr. Hank Pym, he brought along only four other members: Emma, Jean Grey, Remy LeBeau and Ororo Munroe. Of course, if needed, Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. would allow for more team members to accompany them, but Scott liked to live within means, and the more team members on the roster for each mission meant more money being spent accommodating them. Besides, he had a lot of faith in the ones he brought with him.

Hank, who had never ridden the SR-71 Blackbird, found it to be a beautiful piece of machinery, offering a comfortable ride. And since he had also never been on a mission before, he took clues from the other members on what seemed appropriate. Scott was reading through the mission report, but Hank had already done that, and with effective memorization skills he had acquired from his years in school, had no need to reread it.

The others, were all relaxing, perhaps. Maybe getting themselves mentally ready to handle the mission before them. He took out a magazine, and intended to read, but found himself unable to concentrate. His mind roamed instead, and he wondered if the snap decision he made was the right one. Janet, who he was causally seeing for a few months now, had given him the heads up, as she promised if ever there was a mission, and he seized the opportunity. After all, Texas was the home to the _Atta texana_, an ant only found in Texas and Louisiana, and one he had yet to study because of its geographical rarity. If by chance he wasn't cut out for mission work, the hopes of seeing the ant species would hopefully make up for things.

_Dallas HQ. 12:45 P.M. Central._

They were met at the small terminal by a woman dressed in a pastel blue power suit, her dark blonde hair pulled back severely. She thrust a hand in Scott's direction and said, "Agent Melissa Gold. You must be Agent Scott Summers."

"It's a pleasure, Agent Gold," Scott replied, "This is my team," at each name, he pointed towards that particular person and Melissa shook each of their hands, "Dr. Jean Grey, Dr. Emma Frost, Agent Remy LeBeau, Agent Ororo Munroe and Dr. Henry Pym."

Melissa continued, going through the high points. "I'm supposing you've been briefed on our man-bird and also watched the video taped by the Wilsons. They are here, waiting to be further questioned. An Agent Mace has already taken a brief, preliminary statement. The cave in question – _El Grande Rojo Cueva_ – is located in Jim Hogg County, which is why we'll need to station you in San An's base instead of ours. You'll have a charter plane, and the trip will be around two hours one-way, as opposed to over six if you were to travel from here." The way Agent Gold spoke of the state made them believe that she was one of the Texas residents that truly believed everything was bigger – and better – in Texas.

"Yes, we're aware of that," Scott said. "Will you be accompanying us to San Antonio?"

"If you need me, I'll fly out, yes," Agent Gold replied.

"Okay, my team has their orders. Is there anything else we need to know before we separate?"

"Well," Agent Gold said, and Scott, as well as his team, got that feeling that Elizabeth had hit the nail on the head, "There are other cases related to the cave that the locals may talk about. I'm sure it's myth, but it makes their little paper."

Scott had worked with his team members, or most of them, for long enough to know that a few of them were bristled by Agent Gold's tone. He said, in an effort to give her the benefit of the doubt, "We'll need to look at those other cases."

"Okay," she said slowly, wondering why on earth any local myth might be relevant to a mutated dead body. "I can fax you copies of anything about The Big Red Cave, probably by tomorrow afternoon."

"Make it sooner," Scott replied, and turning to his team, he said, "Change of plans. Jean, Pym, you're still doing the autopsy. Ororo and I will check out the cave. Emma, I want you and Agent Mace to further conduct the preliminary interview with Mark and Regina. Remy, stay here with Agent Gold and go through everything that came in about that cave."

Agent Gold felt as if she was being audited; for some reason her work would be meticulously leafed through by apparently a group of mutants who believed in legend. Now, she knew why some of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had worked with Tony's Avengers before never wanted to do it again.

_Texas. En route to San Antonio. The Charter Plane. 1:25 P.M._

Scott, Jean, Hank and Ororo got on the small plane and began their four hour flight from Dallas to San Antonio. Probably before they arrived, Emma would have information for them, and perhaps, Remy, too. The information that they found would dictate what they would be doing next.

Scott turned to his team members and said, "Elizabeth was right, I guess. This death may be the worst that has happened in the cave, but it seems there's a lot more going on behind the scenes."

Ororo said, "I think the people of Jim Hogg County will be able to give us more than Agent Gold did."

"I have a feeling Agent Gold has a lot of information stored on in her files, though, information pertaining to this cave."

"People do love a good myth, don't they?" Ororo said. "And I've always thought there's a least some truth to all of them. How else would they get started?"

Scott, unlike Ororo's whimsical and somewhat superstitious nature, believed in concrete facts and not much else, but she did have a point. Even the most brutal of stereotypes or the most fanatical of ideas were very concrete in at least one person's mind. If that person was slick enough to convince others of the myth or the stereotype's sincerity or realness then they had effectively birthed that idea into subculture.

Jean remained stoically quiet – or at least on the outside. Inside, many things were running through her multifaceted mind. She wasn't exactly a superstitious person, but she tried to be open minded. After all, the stuff she had witnessed ever since she was ten years old had been anything but logical at times. Maybe there was some truth to the legend of _El Grande Rojo Cueva_. Maybe there were hundreds more that had fallen to the cave's legend. And if not, if it was all a hoax the people in Jim Hogg County, Texas used to get visitors and revenue for their county, then she would at least like to assist the medical staff in Texas in anyway she could. No one deserved to die, of natural causes or otherwise, without some sort of closure for those that cared for him or her. And if there was no one to care, then she would be that person.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dallas. Questioning Room. _

Agent Jeffrey Mace looked like he spent most of his days inside eating greasy foods, he was pale and his skin had a sheen to it that shouldn't be so in a building as heavily air conditioned as this one. He said to her, "You must be Dr. Frost," and before shaking her hands he wiped them on his pant leg.

"Emma, please," she insisted, taking his hand.

"I'd still introduce yourself as 'doctor' to the Wilsons, I have a feeling they'll only be swayed by someone they think is important."

Despite his awkwardness and his unsightly looks, Emma found him likable. "And Agent wasn't important enough?" she asked.

"Apparently, the Wilsons think themselves quite important," Mace said, and added, "Well, he does."

Emma rolled her eyes, "Wonderful. I bet they think they're the only victims, here."

Agent Mace nodded. "They're in here," he said, and held open the door for her. Simple Southern boy manners.

Emma decided that although she would be annoyed by the Wilsons and their self-importance, she would play to it. With a sweet smile she extended a hand to Regina, first and said, "My name is Dr. Emma Frost, and I would like to offer my assistance, I'm a psychologist. I would like to help you come to terms with your traumatic ordeal."

Regina Wilson, seemingly so confident and easily amused in the videotape now seemed timid and stressed. Her face appeared sallow and pinched. She was obviously a woman who was quite traumatized by what she had seen. And yet, though Mark's face registered nothing but annoyance, Emma knew Regina was the adventurous one, in fact, Regina probably was the _everything_ one, leaving only the emotion of 'annoyed' to her husband. Since he didn't have an audience to impress or to critique his actions, like he did when he and Regina were filming their honeymoon, he reverted back to what Emma knew to be his usual – self-centered.

With a sniffle, Regina brought Emma out of her analysis and she said, "Oh, that's nice of you, but we really just want to go home."

"I know you do," Emma said, consolingly, "That is a completely understandable feeling. Why don't you have a seat and we'll talk?" She barely spoke at all to Mark, because he was busy texting someone on his phone.

Regina sat down and said, "Dr. Frost, are we under investigation? Because we didn't do anything!"

"No, you're not under investigation," Emma said calmly, "I would simply like to talk to you both and understand what you have seen. And, of course, if I can offer you any counseling, I will."

Mark looked up, "We got our own shrinks in Chicago," he said, rudely.

_No doubt_, Emma thought, _I bet he or she is your sounding board to listen to how important you think you are._ But none of her thoughts were evident on her face as she replied, "That's good. I suggest you talk to him or her," she focused on Regina again, and took her hand, "No one should have to deal with what you've seen alone. And talking about it will help."

Regina nodded, beginning to warm to Emma. And Emma began to understand that these two were wed because their fathers wanted them to be. Elizabeth had provided her and the team with a short synopsis on the Wilsons and who their people were. She felt sorry for Regina, because she could so much better than this toad with an expensive phone glued in his hand who cared little for anyone other than himself.

Regina seemed to take her time thinking this over, before she said, "I want to talk about it with you."

Emma replied with, "That's excellent, Regina." And, to Mark, she said, "If you would like to talk next, you're more than welcome to. And whatever you can tell us could help us find out what happened."

"Isn't that your problem?" Mark asked, annoyed that his time was being wasted. Annoyed that he had to stumble upon the body of some disgusting _mutant_. Emma could read his thoughts clearly, without even trying.

Regina said, "Mark," with the same assertion in her voice as she had in the cave and told him to shut up, "I want to help."

Mark looked dejected and sat down. And started playing a game on his ever-present phone. Even if he disliked something, it would have been too much of a bother to fight that hard. That was at least one thing Regina had in her favor.

Regina began her account of what had happened in the cave, prompted by both Emma and Agent Mace's questions and unprompted by her husband.

_San Antonio Division. The autopsy room. 5:25 P.M._

Hank Pym had never before seen the dead body of a human being, but he noticed that Jean didn't patronize him by asking if he'd be able to handle it. Instead, she said, "I'm really looking forward to your entomology expertise on this one. Apparently, our John Doe was found inhabited by a lot of little critters."

He smiled at her, and said, "Critters is what I do. Just make sure you tell me how best to preserve evidence while I work."

"I doubt you'll have a problem with that," Jean said. "Let's scrub up, shall we?"

After they had donned the garb required of a doctor in autopsy, they entered one of the identical autopsy rooms and took a good, long look at their John Doe – the half-bird and half-man that had suffered some traumatic type of death by the looks of his body. If Jean had to guess before diving in, she might have said that it looked like he had gone for a really fast fly in a very small room – or cave – in his case.

Hank stuck a gloved finger in one of the many lacerations and rolled the debris within his fingers. "Exoskeleton," he said.

Jean moved closer and examined the tiny shell of a bug that had obviously grown from devouring flesh. Hank continued, "By cursory maggot count alone, I'd guess he's been dead probably at least forty hours."

Jean nodded, "I guess first we should get these guys off of him so they don't continue to eat up our evidence."

Hank agreed. "Is it normal to leave the bugs with body for so long?"

"We're the head medical examiners," Jean replied, "We need to see the body as it was. Dirt, bugs and all."

"Right," Hank replied. "I'll get some specimen jars."

_Dallas. Agent Gold's office._

The room was probably no bigger than 10x8, and it contained mostly computers and also a paper shredder, a radio and a shelving system that ran the length of the room close to the ceiling. It was crammed full of books, folders and paperwork. The air conditioning was humming loudly, obviously catering to the computers and not the humans. In fact, it was rare that anyone other than Melissa spent more than ten minutes in here. And yet, so far, Remy had been stuck in the freezing cold room for probably close to four hours.

The computer filing system worked chronologically, or at least Melissa's did, and so, after she typed in _El Grande Rojo Cueva/ Big Red Cave_, the computer took them back to the very first incident and they went through them one by one. Each entry had a little blurb written about it and also a corresponding file code that would allow access to the actual incident, via video feed or taped phone conversations.

Melissa found out within the first hour that Agent Remy LeBeau was very thorough and seemed to have little trust in her abilities in memory and filing. He was also very handsome, with the attributes of some sort of dark-haired Greek god. So not her type, though, considering she preferred men that weren't prettier than she was. Also, she found his lack of trust in her abilities very insulting. He not only read all of the blurbs, but he made her go to each separate file folder so he could listen or watch the actual footage. Melissa could have told them that most were fake, but he needed to see it for himself. He had written nearly fifty cases that he thought were not what she said they were, and asked her to compile this list into a separate folder and send it to the San An facility. Melissa realized that underneath all of his dark locks there wasn't a single brain cell that understood technology. She tried to explain to him that the amount of data that would need to be shipped was huge, and might take a week for it to arrive, but Agent LeBeau waved away her concerns with a terse, "Just send it."

She began compiling the folder on a second computer, allowing him to work by himself on the first one, figuring he didn't want her help anyways. For probably close to a half hour the silence was deafening, because she was so used to being alone that she wanted desperately to whistle or hum. And then he cursed, and for a moment she wondered if his masculine, long-fingered hands had ruined her delicate piece of equipment.

"What did you do?" she asked, keeping her tone only slightly respectful. He outranked her, after all.

And he replied, "Last month, Miguel Manuelo was found dead in his home. His family said he'd been in the cave alone."

Melissa caught up with his line of thinking fast. Shit. Another death meant S.H.I.E.L.D.; specifically her team was being negligent. She could already see the cardboard box waiting for her stuff to go inside it. She tried to remember Manuelo, and thankfully she did. "Yeah. The EMT on the scene said he died of heart failure."

"And no one requested an autopsy?" Remy asked her incredulously, patronizingly.

"No," she replied, feeling the need to repeat herself, "The EMT said it was heart failure." She didn't care that she sounded nearly hostile. She was just about fed up with him.

Remy ignored the fact that she was treating him like an idiot, and said, "How old was Miguel, do you know?" The 'do you know' seemed to suggest she knew nothing. Or at least she took it that way.

She shrugged. "I can't remember. I get a lot of bogus calls."

Apparently, Agent LeBeau had been playing teacher; he already knew this guy's age. This bristled Melissa more than she would have liked to admit. "He was eighteen. How many eighteen year olds die of heart failure?"

"There was no reason for the autopsy," Melissa said again, "It wasn't a suspicious death." Well, she assumed it wasn't anyways, her job didn't always grant her access to this kind of information – _so don't jump down my freakin' throat, Agent LeBeau_.

But when she met his eyes, she realized he wasn't quite done jumping down her throat, he basically just started. His dark brown eyes narrowed and he looked scary – she guessed how a mutant might look right before he or she used their powers. He said, "His mother, his sister, and his cousin called in a total of seven different times, Agent Gold." He didn't raise his voice, in fact, he lowered it considerably, but it felt like ice and hot daggers at the same time. "And you dismissed all of their calls, saying to his mother, not two days after her son died – but not at all suspiciously, says you – that it wasn't your job to play grief counselor."

She waited about thirty seconds before she thought it was safe to breathe. She might have said 'Above my pay grade', or something else decidedly tart, but did not. Instead, she settled on, "I guess that's why S.H.I.E.L.D. sent you guys in."

As fast as Agent LeBeau's temper flared, it passed. _Thank God._ And his voice was now very neutral. He asked, "The Manuelos live in Jim Hogg County, yes?"

"Yes," Melissa answered, supposing he already knew that answer as well. "The address is in the case profile."

He stood, indicating he was done with her and said, "Send all the information as soon as possible. And let Agent Frost know that I'm heading to San Antonio."

She wanted to tell him she wasn't his freakin' secretary and that he could call the in-your-face-boobs blonde himself, but wisely, she did not.


	4. Chapter 4

_Outside of _El Grande Rojo Cueva_. 7:45 P.M._

Scott and Ororo, after six hours in route to location, were ready to make use of what little natural light they had left. They wanted to at least get a sense of the cave, needed to see the spot where the John Doe had been found by the Wilsons.

Emma had already checked in, saying she and Agent Mace were finished with the questioning and were very certain that either Wilson could be of no further use to them, but were waiting for Scott's word to send them home. Scott had told her to hold them until autopsy results came in, which he figured Jean and Hank might have something for him by later tonight.

Now, suited up in cave exploring gear, he and Ororo entered the seemingly normal cave. As a lifelong Scout, earning his Eagle at fourteen, Scott knew his way around exploring. And, because part of being a Scout came with it the knowledge every good leader should know, he turned to his teammate and said, "I want to see the scene as they saw it. No more than twenty or thirty minutes. Then, at first light tomorrow, we'll come back, okay?"

Ororo's parents died in a bombing accident when Ororo was eleven years old. She wasn't with them, but because of the huge, sick interest in violence the culture has, Ororo had seen many images of what it might be like to die in a horrific way. The idea of rubble falling from a building and crushing what was in its unseeing path made her tremble for what her parents must have witnessed before their lives were taken. She wasn't claustrophobic in the clammy, knee shaking, passing out type of fear, but a cave could be scary for almost anyone.

She nodded to Scott, forcing herself to remain calm, knowing she could trust him fully with her life, and said, "Let's not waste any time then."

A slight smile splayed across his face, barely visible in the glow of their headlamps and he said, "Atta girl."

The scene was roped off, as crime scenes and suspicious deaths usually were, and both of them stood by the ropes, looking down at the spot where the half-man and half-bird mutant had probably taken his last breath. The amount of blood coloring the dirt beneath them indicated he had died here. The splatter on the walls indicated he might have run into them – perhaps flown into them. Could it have been suicide? Was this man one of the many who could not deal with the fact that they were born different, malformed, mutant?

Scott took out from the utility belt he wore, several tags, and he marked spots on the wall where he saw blood. There were gaps in the walls and ceilings of the cave, or at least this part of it, and if any weather did come through and destroy evidence, Scott wanted to mark off the places where the blood was. Tomorrow, they would use the luminal spray to see if they had missed any – of this John Doe's or otherwise. But, for tonight, he had seen enough.

One of the residents of Jim Hogg County, that lived closest to the cave, was in the business of running local tours, and he waited outside as Scott and Ororo looked around. When the two Agents came out, he helped them out of the suits and said to them, "Y'all be headin' towards San Antonio, an' comin' back here in the morning?"

"That's right," Scott said.

But the man, Frank Perry was his name, shook his head, "The missus and I have a place above the garage, if you'd like to take advantage of it."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," Ororo said, "But, we have to meet with our team tonight."

Frank shrugged, "Maybe you'll stay with us tomorrow night then. A lot of us here, if given the opportunity, would love to tell you the things we've seen."

Scott raised an eyebrow over the slim visor he wore, and said, "Hold your invitation then, Frank." And then, taking his phone out of his pocket, he said, "If you'll excuse me for a moment." He walked a few feet away from them and called Remy.

Avoiding pleasantries, which was common, Scott said when Remy picked up, "You find anything with Agent Gold?"

"More than I wanted to," Remy responded. "She's sending it to San Antonio." He paused and then added, "Scott, the bird man isn't the only casualty, and there's plenty of weird shit besides death, too."

"We've got a guide here," Scott said, "Wants to talk to us about things the town has seen. This might have less to do with the cave and more to do with something else."

"Wouldn't rule the cave out just yet, though," Remy said, a bigger believer of superstition than Scott was. "You've been in there?"

"Yes, Ororo and I just left it," and without missing a beat, he added, "And she's okay." Then he asked, "What's your ETA for San Antonio?"

"Probably by ten," Remy answered. "Why, does Jean have any results yet?"

"Not yet. Is Emma staying in Dallas?"

"For the time being. As Agent Gold said, the data system up there is better. She's checking up on a couple of things. And going through some of the _Rojo Cueva_ stuff."

"Alright, Ororo and I are heading back. We might make it in before you."

_Autopsy Room. 9:30 P.M._

"Well," Hank said, placing his hands on his hips, "The critters are all jarred and labeled, and I think they've given me all they can."

"Same with John Doe," Jean said, "Except for his name, I think he's said all he can say."

"It's odd, though," Hank said, which was probably an understatement, "It appears as if he had this ability for awhile. And yet, he chooses now to express his negative feelings on the matter."

"If it was his choice," Jean said. "However, there is nothing that might suggest someone helped him commit suicide. And, without a name and a history, we don't know if he's the type who would have done so, or not."

"I've always wondered," Hank said, switching gears, "Would it be possible for you to maybe see something psychically? I mean, I'm not naïve, I know that psychics aren't able to answer all of our looming questions or obtain for us our deepest desires, but…"

"My telepathic strength leaves something to be desired," Jean replied. "And, to my knowledge, I've never been able to see past events, though I do feel a sense of imminent danger when something bad may happen in the future. My psychic view of the world is somewhat blurry. As an empath, I'm most susceptible to emotions, and especially emotions of those I care for or am close to."

Hank nodded. "Is that difficult?" he asked, not exactly being specific for a reason.

"Oh, yes," she said, appearing sad. "When I see tragedy like this, either premeditated by the victim or the perpetrator, I often wish I was capable of stopping it, or at least doing more than cleaning up after it."

"But, you are, of course," Hank said. "You're finding the answers. You are giving closure to those who will grieve for this man."

"Yes," Jean said, fully confident in her role as a doctor and a medical examiner, "But, wouldn't it be great to be able to stop it before it happens? You've felt that way, I'm sure."

"Certainly," Hank replied. "When I was on the board to design and construct the super-powered prisons, I thought many times how wonderful it might be to have it empty someday. To be able to rehabilitate criminals is still one of my greatest wishes as a scientist."

Jean smiled, understanding the passion in Dr. Pym's blue eyes. "I guess we all do what we can, and that's all we can do."

Hank smiled back. "Do you think we're ready to let the team in on the results?"

Scott checked in with Emma once more before sending her to get some rest. And then, he, Ororo, and Remy who had arrived separately, entered the autopsy room. It was a little after ten, and everyone was tired, but this was the last thing on the schedule for tonight before they could sleep it off in the nice room and board section the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility offered.

Without the drama that might have fit right into a horror movie, Hank removed the sheet from the John Doe. The standard Y cut was sewn up and the dark stitches, though small and neat, looked hideous against the pale white skin of death. Whoever this man had been, his last moments hadn't been enjoyed, that much could be speculated from the scene in the cave – the body provided even less doubt.

The skin around each jagged laceration was deepened to a purple green tinge and the deep cuts themselves, though removed of blood and extra gristle were pink and lumpy looking, similar to a hunk of pork.

No matter how determined Ororo was to handle her first dead body like a pro, she began to see the vivid comparison to human flesh and ground beef – and the thought alone made her queasy. Being mainly a vegetarian made things worse. She took hold of Remy's tricep – hard – and he pulled up the nearest chair and maneuvered her into it, gently easing her head between her knees. He whispered something she didn't quite catch about water, but she waved him away. She felt foolish, of course, but then again she was among friends and things could have been much worse had she actually fainted.

Jean looked with sympathy for her friend for a moment, but continued on with her results. "We still don't have any confirmation on who this guy is, but his prints and his blood work are at the lab now and hopefully soon we'll learn something."

"So, we're not certain yet whether or not he was drugged, or took drugs?" Scott asked.

"Right," Jean replied.

Pym said, "We have TOD set right around two days prior to the Wilson's arrival, which we expected."

"And the COD," Jean said, "Is blunt force trauma. He literally flew himself into the walls until he died. He broke several bones and bled internally. He also suffered from a pretty severe concussion."

"That being said," Hank continued, "We still can't be sure why he did it or why it was done to him."

Scott asked, "Can you offer a guess? Do you think he did this to himself, or did someone do this to him?"

"How would someone go about making someone repeatedly slam their body into a wall?" Remy asked. "And why would someone repeatedly slam themselves into a wall?" His questions were rhetorical and everyone knew it.

"There is psychically," Jean said. "The other person wouldn't even have to be there necessarily."

"Okay, but what if someone was? Is there a chance you will find some evidence of that?"

"Doubt it, but we're going to pour over every single hair and blood sample we have."

"Let's assume for a second that this was a suicide," Remy said. "Why go to _El Grande Rojo Cueva_ to end it all?"

"Unfortunately, we can't really answer any of these questions with any kind of certainty," Jean replied. It was something she had wondered too, of course. Was it something about the cave? Or something much less ominous or superstitious?

Scott said, "Well, this gives us a lot to think about. I'm ordering we call it a night. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning. Ororo and I will go back to the cave. Jean, Pym, I want you to continue what you're doing here. Leave no stone unturned. Remy, I want you to talk to some of the other people who filed complaints or whatnot with Agent Gold about that cave. Especially the family of the other casualty. Let's get a good night sleep and start fresh in the morning."

_San Antonio S.H.I.E.L.D. Facility. Agent Dormitories. 11:30 P.M._

As mission protocol stated, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents or Avengers or anyone else assigned to a mission could no cohabitate a room with a person of the opposite sex, or cohabitate a room with the same sex unless available housing was unavailable. And neither Remy nor Ororo had plans to break that rule, both insisted in their heads that he was simply walking her to her room. And shutting the door in his face would have been just rude. Remy waited approximately three seconds after the door closed to ask, "Are you okay?"

Ororo smiled, sitting on the bed to take off her boots, "Of course, I'm okay."

In a nothin'-but-the-facts-ma'am kind of tone, he said, "You near about fainted less than an hour ago. And you're a little pasty right now, for a colored woman."

"I was – am – tired. It's to be expected. We all are. But, I'm fine. Honestly."

He looked at her for a moment longer, the crease in his brows still evident. "You sure?"

"I'm positive, Remy. It was my first dead body, and if I heard the stories right, I handled it better than you did yours."

He came over and sat next to her on the bed. "Don't feed me lines, _chère_," he said simply.

Yes, she should have known better than to fib to an empath. So, with a sigh, she placed her _café au lait_ colored hands into his and met his dark brown eyes with her crystal blue ones. "The cave frightened me more than I thought it would. But I trust Scott and you do, too. Everything will be alright."

He smiled slightly, not quite pleased at his victory, but close. "You're right, of course," he said. "Everything's gonna be fine."

She smiled back and kissed him on the lips, but only for a moment. If she had held that position any longer she knew very well where it would lead and both needed to sleep at some point tonight.

Remy was thinking along the same lines and regrettably left her side. He made his way towards the door.

She said, "Goodnight, dear. I love you."

"Back at ya," he said, and closed the door after he left.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Lab. 7:00 A.M. _

By the time Jean got to the lab that morning, Hank was already there, peering through a microscope. The small tabletop centrifuge was whirring in the background. "Good morning," he said, hearing her come in and looking up, "It occurred to me that even if there isn't any evidence left on the body itself, there is a slight chance that one of these guys," he thumbed a finger towards the collection of insects, "has just what we're looking for. On their bodies."

Jean smiled. "How long exactly have you been here?"

"Only since five," he said, as if that were normal after jet lag and a tiresome previous day. "I'm also going to shrink so I can get a better look at the ones that are alive. They won't hold still on the microscope, and I don't want to risk washing away evidence by putting them in something to hold them down."

"Do you need my help?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "If you would put me inside this terrarium when I'm small enough that would be wonderful."

He had already placed a few of the bugs that were still squirming inside of the small glass box fitted with a bug's environment – or so Jean thought, anyways. "Sure," she said.

"Also," Hank said, handing her a small little Bluetooth type communicator, "You can use this to talk with me while I'm shrunk. I'm not sure how long I'll be down there."

_Charter Plane._

Scott and Ororo wanted to be in the cave as soon as possible, but Frank Perry said he and his wife – who he told them would be accompanying them on their expedition – needed some time to do other things first. Scott wasn't exactly pleased about this, but he accepted, knowing that Perry and his wife – he had researched both of them last night – would be probably their best bet as guides of _El Grande Rojo Cueva_.

They still boarded the charter plane at a little after seven, to arrive around nine. Because the plane was much smaller than the SR-71 Blackbird, Scott couldn't get up and move around much, and so, belted in, he drummed his fingers on his pant leg and pretended it relieved pent up excitement as well as pacing would have. He was beginning to note that the amount of travel time required by their back and forth trips and three different location points was more than he bargained for and ultimately a big waste of time.

Ororo, on the other hand, not as get-up-and-go as Scott, found the trips back and forth to be relaxing, both physically and mentally, and since she knew what she would have to endure today, she was very welcoming towards anything to give her a sense of the serenity she was often known for.

By the time they reached the cave site, Ororo had relaxed enough to be ready for her day; she was certain that she was no longer 'pasty' as Remy had put it, either. She and Scott put on the cave attire they wore yesterday and met with the Perrys just outside of the cave's entrance.

Frank was a bit on the beefy side, barrel-chested, thick arms, stocky legs; he looked strong despite his sixty years. His wife, Tanya, though she was probably in her fifties, seemed much younger. She had a nearly unlined face, except for the eyes and smile lines, and her hair, though going gray still had the life and bounce of someone much younger. She was spry and athletic and looked ready to tackle the cave as soon as Frank would let them.

Because Scott had checked them out online, he knew of their personal story. They lived nearest the cave by accident, but got into the business of exploring it very much on purpose. More than fifteen years ago, when Scott and the rest of his team were playing superhero instead of actually doing it, the Perrys lost their only child to a cave collapse. And yes, he had been alone.

Frank seemed to know what went through Scott's mind, and he said, "Our boy would've been only a coupla years older than the two of ya. I want you to know that we really appreciate everything y'all are doin' here."

Scott smiled and put his hand on Frank's arm, giving it a little squeeze. "And Ororo and I are very grateful for your expertise."

Tanya's face lit up with a genuine smile; her sunny disposition probably accounted for her youthful appearance, and she said, "Well, come on now, plenty to see and God only gave us 'bout twelve hours of sunshine to see it."

_Jim Hogg County. 10:00 A.M._

The county itself was fairly large and thus, the few people that lived there – few in comparison to Dallas, San Antonio, or any major city – were spread out. Remy's first thought was that this day was going to drag on and on while he waited for the folks to travel to the townhouse where the mayor had set him up to tell their tales of woe.

He found he was wrong. He had entered through a back entrance and set up shop in a small back room and not five minutes later, the local sheriff, a man by the name of Jim Whitely, who was very hospitable and cooperative for a small town sheriff, said, "Agent LeBeau. They're ready to talk whenever you are ready to listen."

"They?" Remy asked, "You mean the Manuelos?"

"No, sir. Not just them," the sheriff answered, a smile touching the corner of his lips, "You got yourself a line fit for a Tim McGraw concert."

"Well, guess you can send 'em in, either one by one or families at a time then."

"Yes, sir," Whitely said.

"Sheriff?" Remy asked, before the man left. "Why the red carpet?" He meant why were they setting up a meeting in the town hall with corn bread, sweet tea and already a through-the-county knowledge of the going-ons.

Sheriff Whitely knew exactly what the young Agent was referring to. "Because someone finally is listenin' to us," Whitely said, "An' we've been waiting for that for a long time now."

Remy nodded solemnly and the sheriff left to allow the first witness to enter. Her name was Mrs. Deborah 'Dee Dee' Twain, and in their first five minutes together Remy could deduce that she was a widow, the town gossip, usually first in line to tell any sort of tale and was quite particular about cornbread. "It's too dry," she said, more than once throughout her long winded monologue, though it didn't stop her from eating it.

"Mrs. Twain," Remy said, oozing enough charm from his smile to make her stop chatting, "I am also not a fan of dry cornbread, but we're here to discuss the cave outside of your lovely town. So, if you have anything that pertains to that, I'd love to hear it."

"Well, of course, honey," she said, her southern manners impeccable, the accent as Texan as a longhorn, "I was getting to that."

Remy just smiled again, motioning to her with his hand that she should continue. By the time she left, he had learned nothing except that this town had a lot of 'those Mexican folk', 'real nice people', she had said, 'and real hard workers, but just a little too, you know…' Remy didn't have a clue what she meant, but he thanked her for her time anyways. Now he was convinced this day would drag on for a completely different reason. Yes, someone was finally there to listen to them, but he wasn't particularly happy about it.

_The Lab. Noon._

Jean was in the middle of examining the scrapings from underneath John Doe's fingernails when a call came through. A S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent said over the intercom that she had a call waiting on line three. She picked it up, wondering if it was a team member why they didn't call her cell phone. "Hello. Dr. Grey speaking," she said kindly enough.

"Dr. Grey," said a man's voice, "I'm Agent Pat Fernier, Dallas HQ; we've found the identity of your Doe."

"That's great," Jean said.

Agent Fernier continued, "His sister called us. We've already made arrangements for her to come down to see the body, confirm the identity."

"Good, when can she come down?"

"She'll be in later today."

"Thank you, Agent Fernier. That's some quick work."

"That's my job, Dr. Grey."

Jean told Hank the situation through the headset that was a lot more complicated than it seemed. Not only could you be in direct contact with the other person, but you could call them with only one touch of the only button. Also, the communication system allowed proper voice amplification so Hank would not sound like a chipmunk and Jean would not sound like a thunder clap.

Once Hank was notified, they disconnected, just in case either had the habit of talking to themselves while working. He had told her he would be 'under' as he called it for a while because he wanted to study the small colony of something or other that had formed since they were put into the terrarium. One of the bugs was injured and yet the rest of the bugs didn't seem to exile it. Hank told Jean he wanted to first discover how the bug came to be missing a leg and second of all study the injured bug's usefulness among its other colony members. Jean could only say, "Let me know when you're finished," before getting back to work. She was amazed at the things Dr. Hank Pym found interesting.

Jean figured she would wait until she was introduced to the sister before telling the others. Maybe the sister could help them; maybe she had no desire to.

_Town Hall. 3:15 P.M._

At first the crowd was mainly older white couples, no one as privy to gossip as Dee Dee, but all giving their version of why the cave was what it was. And then it was younger white folk, who gave him ordinary and innocuous pieces of information that indicated to them that the cave was haunted and to Remy that they had spent too long in the hot Texas sun waiting to be interviewed. Remy felt a twinge of guilt for the way he treated Agent Gold since most of this stuff was amounting to nothing, but it ended abruptly whenever his thoughts turned to Miguel Manuelo.

In between a witness switch he shook out the cramp forming in his right hand, and glanced at the window air cooling unit. It was a far cry from the central cooling units that were in most of the public buildings in the South, and the North these days, and though normally Remy hated the frigid air of an air conditioner, he thought it might be nice now. The humidity outside was soaring, this part of Texas was a lot like his home state of Louisiana, and he would guess the temperature without the heat index to be close to one hundred degrees.

However, he didn't have time to reflect on the heat any longer, because another witness, or perhaps story teller entered. He looked up and smiled, as always and offered her something to eat and drink. And he noticed that this woman was unlike the rest. First of all, she was Mexican, and second of all, she looked scared.

Sheriff Whitely poked his head in. "This is Gertie, her English isn't that great. But she usually can tell you what she means."

"_No hay problema_," Remy said with a smile, never taking his eyes from Gertie, and in perfectly accented Spanish, said, "_Hola Gertie. Me llamo Agent de Remy LeBeau. Hablo español con fluidez._"

Gertie's deep brown eyes lit up and she spoke rapidly and effortlessly in her native tongue. Remy coerced her gently to have a seat first before she continued her narrative and asked her if he could tape record her if necessary. She was happy enough that he spoke Spanish, as far as she was concerned, he could do whatever he wanted.


	6. Chapter 6

El Grande Rojo Cueva.

It took five and a half hours to receive the public tour of the cave. They ate lunch at a little spot designated for just that. And, as both Ororo and Scott suspected, they found nothing of use, except that the Wilsons had explored not usually toured terrain. "Why is the tour only offered for this portion of the cave?" Scott asked.

"It's a tourist attraction," Frank Perry said simply. "Not a lot of people do serious caving down here. It's all about the myth. During that Mexican holiday, The Day of the Dead, there is a cave walk and this cave is all decked out with spooky stuff. Like a haunted house, kind of."

Scott and Ororo were beginning to understand the cave a little better. The people of Jim Hogg County only used it for touristy reasons, period. The Wilson's were outsiders and did not know much about the myths surrounding it; they were also amateur cavers. They were lucky to have found the bird-man's body; God only knew how long it would have taken for him to be discovered if not for the Wilson's inexperience.

Ororo asked, "Is there any map of the cave that you can buy? That shows beyond the public area?"

"As far as we know, Frank and I are the only ones who've taken to exploring it. Always together, of course," Tanya said.

"We'd like to see as much as you can show us," Scott said.

"Alright," Frank said mildly. "It's been a few years since we've gone to 'em, but I brought all of our drawings and maps of the place."

Ororo remembered her conversation with Remy last night, and suddenly missed him tremendously. She would be cave exploring with two guides who only began charting this cave with drawings because their son died here. Grieving parents taking her on an adventure into their healing process. She tried mightily in her best stoic voice, "Is there a greater chance of collapse in the other parts, not seen by tourists?" She wasn't sure she sounded all that brave.

Frank smiled, "Honey, this cave might be creepy because of its legend, but anyone could live here without any worry to their home fallin' down around them."

Scott got that sudden feeling that he was just about to think of something important, but lost it. Frustrating as it may have been, he couldn't dwell on it. Tanya pulled out a map and said to her husband, "Let's explore our Old Lover's Cavern first, okay, Frank."

Scott's frustrated feeling was replaced by the icky image of these two getting it on in the cave by just the light of their beams. He shook his head to clear it and fought against saying 'ick' out loud.

Frank said, "Lead the way, darlin'."

_Oh, gross and grosser_, Scott thought, but followed them anyways. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but something told him this cave held at least more than a hot spot for Frank and Tanya's consummation.

_The Lab. 4:07 P.M._

A S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent knocked on the door to the laboratory, interrupting her inner debate whether or not she should be concerned that she hadn't yet heard from Scott. Jean told the Agent to come in. The Agent, whose name Jean thought was Peterson, said, "The victim's sister is waiting for you in the lab office. Let me know when you're finished."

Jean nodded, and thanked her, following her out to the office. She closed the door and glanced at the woman who might be able to answer the questions she and her team were wondering about. She was rail thin, and deeply tanned. She looked to be in her late forties, though the obvious signs that she was a smoker, or her sunbathing, could have accelerated her physical age. Jean extended her hand and said, "My name is Dr. Jean Grey, and I'm sorry to have met you under these circumstances."

The woman stared at her hand for long enough for Jean to wonder if she had ever shaken hands as a way of introduction. But finally, she extended her own, and Jean found it dry. She said in an equally dry and papery voice, "My name is Vicki Montgomery, and I believe you have my brother Harry."

Harry Montgomery. Finally a name to go with the battered body she had spent the last two days working on. "Would you like to see him now, Ms. Montgomery? Or would you rather just give me a picture?"

"I'll do both," Vicki said, in her very thick southern twang.

Jean nodded, though she wasn't sure Vicki should just get up and rip off the sheet just yet. "When was the last time you saw Harry? Were the two of you close?"

Vicki paused, her fingers twitched, and Jean realized that this simple woman probably did her best thinking while smoking. Jean could not offer her a cigarette, even if she did have one, indoors, and had no desire to inhale countless chemicals while the woman thought, either.

Finally, Vicki said, "I don't reckon it was more than a month since I seen him. He tol' me he was gonna fly south for the winter." She nodded and looked down at her lap, as if that explained everything.

"A month ago wouldn't have been winter," Jean said softly, "Were you concerned or did Harry often talk like that?"

"You mean like bat shit crazy?" Vicki asked. Jean could only nod once. Vicki replied, "No, Harry ain't crazy. That's how I knew something was wrong with him. When he tol' me on the phone he was flyin' south. I says to him, 'you dolt, Louisiana is south enough', but I'll be, he done found a more southern spot, didn't he?"

"You talked to him on the phone when he said that, or did you see him in person?" Jean needed clarification, especially if Harry's body had only recently turned bird-like. She wasn't sure how Vicki might react to her brother having large wings with feathers and scaly bird legs with clawed feet.

"Oh, just on the phone that time, but we seen each other jus' before then."

Jean took a breath and said, "Vicki, do you have a picture of your brother?"

"Harry didn't like cameras so much. But when I married my first husband, the rat bastard, I made Harry take a picture of the two of us. Then, when I got married again, he says that I don't look no diff'rent so he wasn't taken another." She dug into her purse and continued talking, "You know, I tol' those guys all about Harry, an' theys pretended they could handle it. But, in the end, well, it wasn't true."

The first hint of grief began to creep into Vicki's monologue and Jean knew it was sinking in. She took another breath; this was the hardest part of the job, talking to people who would go through many different levels of grief in a short period of time. The grief of strangers was very hard to digest for Jean, because she couldn't put up mental barriers fast enough; she was never certain which ones she might need.

Vicki handed her the wrinkled photo and it was so obvious that it was one of the only ones she had that it nearly made Jean sob outright, but she blinked them back and swallowed the burning lump of grief in her throat as hard as she could. She could cry later, she would let herself cry for a long time if necessary, but not now.

Jean studied the photo and saw that Harry had weird shaped eyes, as his corpse did, and feathery dark hair, also visible on his body. But his feet weren't in the photo and where were his wings? She decided to tread lightly, "Harry will look different now."

For a woman with an inability to use proper English, she was quick to catch on at this point. "Cause he's dead or 'cause of his feet?"

"He has wings too," Jean said quietly.

"Well good," Vicki replied, her voice breaking a little now, "He always wanted to fly."

El Grande Rojo Cueva. _5:00 P.M._

Three and a half hours left of daylight, not that it mattered now. The cavern had long ago tunneled to a dark, dreary place. Four headlights penetrated through the dark, shining back and forth against the walls, ceiling, floors. _Frank and Tanya had not come this way_. It was a thought Scott had had many times over the past few hours.

But he had yet to voice it out loud. He wanted to keep exploring, marking spots as he went like the proverbial Hansel and Gretel. The only difference was he was leaving fluorescent tags and not breadcrumbs – just a bit more advanced. And his Gretel was Ororo, who was leaving nothing except the fingernails she was biting off. She was dreading the thought of being lost, no doubt. _Don't worry, Ororo, whatever's down here probably doesn't eat fluorescent tags._

The smallish passageway they were currently walking through opened suddenly and unexpectedly into a rounded out cavern. Not big by cavern standards, in fact, they could see the wall of the other side within the beam of their headlamps. What was remarkable, however, was that, dead in the center of the smallish cavern was proof that someone had resided here. A bed made of twigs and leaves, a ratty blanket in the center. It was curiously shaped much like a nest.

_San Antonio HQ. 4:27 P.M._

It was obvious that Vicki wasn't yet ready to identify her brother's body. She, like many a grieving family member, was trying to force back the inevitable understanding that the person you loved will never again be physically close to you.

And Jean was willing to let Vicki have as much time as she needed. The tiny ear piece made a beeping sound, indicating Hank was trying to contact her. She pressed the button, noticing the awe-struck look on Vicki's face. "Go ahead, Hank. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Jean. But, I think I've gathered everything I'll need for the time being."

"Should I take you out now?"

"Not yet. You won't be able to without squishing me, I'm afraid. Give me a minute to grow a little."

Jean smiled at Vicki and said, "Come with me."

Vicki followed her out of the office and into the laboratory. She immediately drew her arms close to herself, as if she might ruin something. Jean drew her attention to a small glass container filled with grass, twigs – it was some sort of home for an animal.

"Whatcha got in there?" Vicki whispered.

"I want you to see something," Jean said, seeing Hank was larger now, and put her hand into the terrarium. Hank hopped on and Jean very carefully put him on the floor several feet away from herself and Vicki's feet.

A sound that could only be described as weird whirred quietly and a man grew seemingly out of thin air. Both Vicki's hands covered her mouth and she gasped. "What on the Lord's green Earth just happened?"

Hank smiled slowly, but knew that Jean should do the talking. For all Vicki knew, he could have been a hologram. Jean knew Hank understood her, and so, relying on the emotional importance of the situation, she stretched the truth the tiniest bit. "This is my friend, Dr. Henry Pym. He and I are mutants. Just like your brother, Harry."

Hands still clasped over her mouth, Vicki trembled slightly and tears began to trickle down her face until she was crying hard enough to actually sob. Jean helped her into a chair and held her wet hands in her own until Vicki could speak. Hank did remarkably well just standing there. Awkward or not, here was his introduction to mission work.

Vicki composed herself with a few tissues Jean gladly gave her and said, "I knew he was different, you know?" she struggled through her thoughts, eventually settling on something Jean found profound, given its source. "I'm so glad Harry wasn't alone. Do you think he knew that?"

Jean didn't need to stretch the truth this time. "Yes. I think Harry did."

"I would like to see him now," she muttered quietly.

Once again, Jean held back tears, relying heavily on her reserves. "Certainly, Vicki. Follow me."

_Town Hall. 7:00 P.M._

The most frustrating part of the day was the fact that he'd heard through a neighbor of the Manuelos that they had no interest in talking to the authorities about the death of Miguel. They had said they tried that and were turned away.

The temperature hadn't dropped much, the humidity not at all, but he was bothered less by the heat than he was his situation. Sheriff Jim Whitely sunk down in the chair across from him. "I was hopin' the Manuelos would've come today. Sure you were too."

Remy simply nodded. "I understand her reasons for avoiding this conversation, though."

"Connie – Miguel's mother, is the sweetest woman on the planet, 'cept for my own mama, of course. When her son died, she could cling only to her Church. You might try talking to the priest of the parish – Monsignor Martin Menuous."

Remy again nodded.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want. We don't lock the place at night. However, if I don't come home to supper, my wife will pout somethin' awful."

Remy smiled, the good sheriff probably never had a twelve hour day before – at least not before Miguel. Holding up his hands in surrender, he said, "Don't let me keep you from supper, Jim. I wouldn't want to be the reason you're in the doghouse."

Sheriff Whitely smiled back and winked, "Somehow I figured you'd understand. Have a good night, Remy."

After the Sheriff had gone, Remy leaned back into the chair, his pen in his mouth and his fingers clasped behind his head. He had lots to think about, but to be honest, Ororo was the loudest thing in his head for the moment. He hadn't heard from her in twelve hours, unusual, to say the least. For the time being, though, he was going to do his best to not worry. After all, he reminded himself, he had a lot to think about.

_Dallas HQ. _

Emma had gotten a hold of everyone except for Ororo and Scott. She found it somewhat odd that they would still be cave diving, but then, she found cave diving in general odd. It was certainly not an adventure on her bucket list.

She was armed with enough data on everyone involved to sink a boat and she was ready to join her team in San Antonio. Her plane wouldn't arrive until almost midnight, so it was best to leave a-sap. Her bags were neatly packed and a nice low-level S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent had carried them downstairs for her.

She went to the terminal and saw the charter plane for the first time. It was small, like a Hot Wheels version of the SR-71 Blackbird and she immediately didn't feel safe. She wasn't fond of normal sized airplanes, how would this teeny thing handle if there was a storm?

She gulped down a rather girlish feeling to squeal in horror and also did not allow her body to shiver. She boarded the plane and told the pilot to make it a smooth one. And she told the flight attendant – yes, there was only one – to make it a rocky one. As in their best gin, on the rocks.

She settled in to the seat, letting the liquor work its magic as the plane ascended into the hazy Texas skies. She closed the blinds to her window; she didn't wish to see the inky clouds erasing any attempt a star gazer might have at doing what he does. She, herself, was an avid star gazer when flying, if one could see the stars, then there was always a better chance of a smoother flight. It made perfect sense in her mind, anyways.

The time for being indignant ended quite abruptly as she felt a pull from her vast psychic reserves. Something was amiss. She concentrated on it, allowing it to come to full force. And nearly dropped her drink in her lap.

It was unusual for her to sense anything at all unless there was a psychic storm coming. And to be fair to those who loved storms…


End file.
